


Regeneration

by Lintilla



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-18
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:38:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lintilla/pseuds/Lintilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock does not like the interest John takes in Jim from IT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited because I finally got my invitation to be a member here. I've been posting this on fanfiction.net but I thought I might as well put it up here in case anyone wants to read it. This goes off the premise that John and Jim knew each other in school and Jim might not be as evil as in canon.

" _The human body has such amazing capacity for pain. It works so diligently to heal itself and alert the brain to trouble."_

* * *

Softly, almost to himself, Sherlock looked up and said, "Carl Powers."

"Pardon?"

"Carl Powers was my first case. I was the only one that thought it was murder," Sherlock said as he gazed at the shoes, "The killer kept them all these years."

"Carl Powers? I think I remember him," John said while thinking back, "He drowned while having a fit, right? I went to school with him."

At that Sherlock snapped his head around to stare at John, "You knew him?"

"It may have been 20 years ago but you don't forget a classmate dying like that," John replied with a slow shake of his head. "I didn't know him all that well – he was a right arse – but it was still a shock."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and returned to his experiment only to be interrupted when Molly entered the room. John smiled and began to say hello but her attention was focused entirely on Sherlock. With a meek voice, she asked, "Any luck?"

* * *

" _What was the greatest invention of the 20_ _th_ _century?"_

" _. . ."_

" _Penicillin. The ability to fight infection has given humans the chance to face death in all its grisly horror and come back, stronger than ever."_

* * *

Jim tentatively entered the lab at Molly's insistence and tried to feign interest in Sherlock Holmes while avoiding John. However, he could not help but look up and meet John's eyes for a moment, just to see if they were as blue as he remembered. His heart pounded quickly when his gaze was met by an inquisitive stare and subsequent wide smile from John. The doctor stepped forward as he spoke, "Jim, is that really you? It's John Watson."

Jim could hardly believe it, John recognized him. He held out his hand but was met instead with a warm hug as John asked cheerfully, "What has it been? 20 years? You look great."

He could hardly suppress the blush that crept onto his cheeks as he stammered in response, "So do you. What brings you to Bart's?"

John rolled his eyes, "Sherlock here. I'm his flat mate and _colleague_ . . . sometimes."

"You help with his cases?"

"You could say that. I suppose genius likes an audience," John laughed.

Sherlock mumbled in irritation, "I'm trying to work."

John huffed, "Right. Why don't we chat in the hall?"

As they left the room, John placed his hand lightly on Jim's back causing a wave of heat to shoot through his body.

* * *

" _Did you know that skin is the body's largest organ? Skin consists of three layers and is constantly dying, flaking away, and regrowing. In a place like your finger tip, there are hundreds of microsensors working to detect temperature, texture, and movement."_

* * *

"So what do you think?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock asked, not looking up from his microscope.

Molly fidgeted before asking again, "What do you think of Jim?"

"Oh . . . he's gay," Sherlock replied dryly.

"What do you mean _gay_? We're together," Molly responded nervously.

Sherlock continued to gaze through his microscope but Molly persisted with thinly veiled anger, "He's not _gay_. Why do you always have to ruin – he's not gay."

"With that level of personal grooming and not to mention his underwear."

"His underwear?"

"Yes, visible above the waist line and a very particular brand. Then there's the all too telling fact that he is currently in the corridor chatting up my flat mate."

Molly looked to the door with distress as she asked, "But they're just old friends and besides Dr. Watson isn't gay . . . is he?"

"Not that I know of, but he does have the tendency to attract attention from all sorts of men. You'd best save yourself the time and -" Before Sherlock could finish speaking, Molly ran from the room.

The detective tried to return to his work but could not shake the image of John's smile upon seeing Jim. The introverted homosexual was clearly attracted to John and held strong affection for him but somehow the thought of John sharing those feelings made Sherlock quite uneasy.


	2. Chapter 2

_It can't be him, he's a doctor not a detective's assistant_ , Jim thought as he poured over the videos and images of Sherlock Holmes' new flat mate. Just when he was sure he had Holmes in his grasp, someone saved him. Holmes was supposed to brilliantly figure out the murderous cabbie and then fall at his own hand, too curious for his own good. However, someone intervened, someone with high morals and steady hands.

John Watson. Jim leaned back in his chair and pictured the beautiful teenager he knew all those years ago. His face was unassuming but held incredible kindness and compassion making him naturally likable and popular. He was everything Jim was not. Being of such unusual intelligence, Jim had been moved up 3 years in school to the great annoyance of his new classmates. Even his own mother held a certain level of contempt for him that she regularly demonstrated after too many drinks.

His father had gone to considerable lengths to ensure his mistress and bastard son were never discovered, which went as far as sending them to England and providing a meager allowance. It was enough to keep his mother drunk and Jim from trying to reach him in Ireland. When Jim had been moved up in school and given special recognition in the local paper, he received a birthday card that year from Dublin. It read: _Congratulations James. Best regards, Reginald Moriarty_. Jim had been so thrilled with the note he tried to ignore the fact that the handwriting was far too feminine to have been written by his father.

Jim existed in a stifling world where everyone ignored, pitied, resented, or hated him. John Watson was a breath of fresh air. One of his instructors had advised Jim that he would make more friends if he offered his services as a tutor and, without his consent, put a notice in the school newspaper. The only person to respond in earnest (there were several prank calls) was John. Despite being brilliant on his own, the 16 year old decided he needed help with his calculus and was not the least bit embarrassed to ask a boy three years his junior, to help him.

It was during their very first session that Jim fell helplessly in love. _They had been working for about twenty minutes when John stopped with a growl of frustration, "I can't stand these problems! Each one takes me at least ten minutes to solve."_

 _Jim quietly went over the problem and began writing out a solution while John watched with rapt attention. When he finished, Jim looked up at John who stared at the paper, bewildered._

" _Show me that again," John asked quietly._

 _Jim demonstrated the problem once more and walked him through the solution._

 _John scratched his head, "This formula you're using: it cuts the calculations down to three steps. It's not in the textbook and it wasn't mentioned in class, where did you find it?"_

" _It just came to me while you were working," Jim answered sheepishly, worried he had scared away another person with his freakish mind._

" _Wait, you figured all that out from watching me try to solve the problem?"_

 _As Jim meticulously explained why the current theorems in practice were outdated and how he figured out the workaround, John's eyes widened. When he finished speaking, Jim snuck another glance at John who sat quiet for a moment and then finally spoke, "That. Was. Amazing."_

" _It was?"_

" _Yes, amazing and quite brilliant."_

For twenty years, Jim had been keeping tabs on John Watson. He had never once interfered in his life and instead let the man live and thrive however he wanted. John did not disappoint. The brilliant, kind man not surprisingly became a skilled physician and had his choice of residencies. To everyone's shock, except Jim's, John enlisted in the army and served his country tirelessly for over a decade. It was not until John was deployed to Afghanistan that Jim decided John needed help. He tried to avoid it, but after a year of waking every day, wondering if John had blown up by an IED or executed by terrorists, Jim decided that John would have to come home.

He knew John and so he knew the man would not take a post away from a war that needed him so badly. He decided that the only way to bring John home was to have him wounded, not badly enough to lose a limb, but enough so he could no longer serve. Jim decided that the most appropriate spot would be the left shoulder. Not trusting local mercenaries, he sent his closest subordinate and best shot to supply the necessary wound. The night John returned to London was the first time Jim was able to sleep for more than a couple hours.


	3. Chapter 3

" _John Watson is an alright bloke but he's too nice," Carl sneered. "He doesn't have the guts to tell you that he doesn't want a disgusting little faggot fawning all over him. Consider this your first and last warning: stay away from John!"_

* * *

Jim had a standing order in regards to Sherlock Holmes: the detective, his family, friends, and colleagues were not to be killed. In all actuality, he cared nothing for the others close to Holmes, but he wanted to make sure John Watson was safe even when placed in dangerous situations. When a desperate General Shan approached him with permission to execute Sherlock Holmes, Jim took his time and carefully considered if his game with Holmes was worth the millions it would cost if the smuggling ring went under. He did finally give his approval of Holmes' death but on the strict condition that John Watson be left unharmed; his instructions added that Watson's lady friend could be eliminated if need be.

When he was informed that General Shan confused Holmes and Watson, nearly killing John, Jim was incensed. He had endured the eccentricities of the smugglers because of the profit they brought in, but they had made their last mistake. In a span of 24 hours, every member of the organization, every idiot with that ridiculous tattoo on their foot, was executed. He personally oversaw General Shan's death and made sure she knew why it was happening. Seb seemed particularly thrilled with the assignment as he often took delight in ruthless power demonstrations.

It was well into the game with Holmes when Jim decided it was time to face his new adversary. For the past couple months he had been cultivating his IT worker persona and striking up a friendship with Molly, the person Holmes had the most contact with at Bart's. After some not-so-subtle hints about the effectiveness of jealousy in gaining someone's attention, they had devised a plan to introduce Jim as her boyfriend. Jim knew that Sherlock's biggest blind spot was his lack of people skills so if he presented himself as a bumbling admirer, Holmes would not give him a second look.

This opportunity also gave him the chance to be in the same room as John Watson for the first time in 20 years. He decided there was little chance the man would recognize him but Jim needed to see those blue eyes again. Nothing could have prepared him for John's reaction that immediately stirred Jim's affection and desire for his former classmate. Predictably, Sherlock ignored him and Jim, so caught up in seeing John again, ignored him as well. As an afterthought, he supposed he should have been more invested in meeting his arch nemesis but all thoughts of the _game_ seemed to melt away when he heard John's voice.

Jim was brought out of his reminiscing by his mobile ringing, not his regular satellite mobile with military specs and state of the art encryption, but the mobile that only John had the number for.

* * *

Despite adapting the IT worker disguise for over a month, Jim still felt uncomfortable in such pedestrian clothing. They were certainly stylish, in a completely different manner from his suits, but they lacked the professionalism and ruthless power projected with his preferred wardrobe. His own staff barely recognized him and even Seb took to staring when he thought Jim was not paying attention. The outfit chosen for his date seemed ridiculous at first but he quickly warmed up to it when he saw how good it looked on him.

His t-shirt had a vintage label of a band he had never heard worn underneath a grey cardigan with red piping. The jeans were dark grey with a skinny leg cut leading down to a pair of red Converse. The entire ensemble was topped off with a fake pair of glasses, rectangular horned rim. Seb was particularly distracted by the outfit but Jim supposed it was because of his military background. Since he saw Jim as his superior, he must have associated tailored suits to a uniform and was unsure of how to react to his commander in street clothes.

They met at a restaurant his men had pre-screened and been monitoring for hours. Out of the twenty other customers at the establishment, 8 of them were ringers under Jim's employ. Although it was nowhere near close to the quality Jim was used to, the food was actually good but he supposed it had mostly to do with the pleasantness of his companion. Jim spoke little about himself but encouraged John to tell him all about university, the military, and life with Sherlock. Throughout the meal, John kept looking up at Jim from across the table and giving little smiles until Jim finally had to ask, "What do you keep grinning at?"

John blushed slightly as he answered, "It's just that I never thought I'd get to see you again and here you were working at Bart's the whole time."

"Small world I guess," Jim replied sheepishly.

John cocked his head to the side in that adorable way he would when he was thinking about something. Jim always loved it. "Your accent is odd. Have you spent much time abroad?"After a moment, John added, "I'm sorry, I've been spending too much time around Sherlock; I'm starting to pick up all these little things. Please, don't think I'm prying."

"It's fine. After my mother died, I moved to Ireland to live with my father's side of the family," Jim answered, comfortable in the elaborate back stories he had created.

John reached out and squeezed Jim's hand, "That must have been hard for you at such a young age."

Jim's pulse quickened at the contact as his brain scrambled to respond, "It wasn't all bad; my life wasn't exactly picture perfect."

John nodded solemnly while leaving his hand on top of Jim's, "I know what you mean; some of those kids were . . . terrible. When you have an experience like that, it's as if you can't get far enough away. After a bad breakup, I joined the army to escape it, but it just, kind of . . . follows you."

Jim gazed into John's eyes, catching his breath at the affection and empathy held in them.

After a long moment of staring at each fondly, John spoke, "You should know, you're the reason I became a doctor. Do you remember that day when we finished math early and you helped me with my biology homework?"

Jim pretended to search his memory, not wanting to blurt out that he could give a detailed description of exactly what John was wearing that day. John waved a dismissive hand and mumbled, "Don't worry if you don't-"

"I remember it," Jim answered quickly making John smile wide.

"I was complaining about how I hated the class and you began to talk about why you loved it. You told me all about how important the healing process is. Then you showed me the scar on your shoulder . . ."

 _Jim could not believe he was actually showing John his scar. It had been given to him years before by a whiskey bottle his mother hated for being empty. Without hesitation, John reached out and ran his fingers along the pink ribboned flesh and whispered, "It's beautiful."_

 _Jim gave a nervous laugh, "That's not what most people say."_

" _What do most people say?"_

" _It's disgusting."_

" _Then they're idiots," John replied confidently. "You said it yourself, healing is beautiful. This scar is proof that your body is fighting to fix itself. You're stronger because of it."_

Jim blushed at the memory and then looked away as he answered softly, "The scar's still there. I suppose I have more healing left to do."

John leaned forward and, at an almost whisper, purred, "I'd like to see it again."


	4. Chapter 4

" _Jimmy! What happened? You've got blood all over your uniform!"_

" _I-"_

" _Do you have any idea how much work those stains will be? My life is difficult enough without having to worry about you fighting."_

" _But Mum, I wasn't-"_

" _I don't want to hear your excuses!" –_ slap _\- "Now go wash yourself up and quit crying!"_

* * *

As Jim led John into his flat, he took a moment to appreciate the authentic look of the place and made a mental note to thank Seb for suggesting a decorator instead of doing it himself. Just the idea of Swedish modular furniture had made Jim shudder in disgust but after seeing it put together he felt that it added a certain believability to his IT worker persona. They had even gone so far as to place a laptop, magazines, books, dishes on a drying rack, and shoes in the front entry. Despite all of those careful preparations, John barely gave the flat a cursory glance instead focusing solely on Jim.

Without saying anything, John moved closer to him, holding him in an intent gaze. Gently he clasped Jim's cheek and brought their foreheads together while Jim slid his hands onto John's waist. The lean muscles were warm and comforting, making him feel like he was home for the first time. John brought his other hand to the back of Jim's head, carding his fingers through the dark brown hair. The kiss started out soft and chaste until Jim unconsciously moaned, causing John to pull him in closer and begin opening his mouth.

Jim felt as if his body had been made to fit into John's arms; their heights were almost the same but Jim's frame was smaller and slotted perfectly together with John's military toned physique. As the kiss intensified, Jim allowed John's tongue into his mouth as the man gripped tighter and then thread his hand through his hair. In response, Jim slid his hands under John's striped jumper and grasped at the warm skin of his back. John pulled his mouth back slightly and smiled, breathily saying, "I've wanted to do that since the moment I saw you at the lab."

He then began pressing wet kisses along Jim's jaw line and down his neck, licking and nipping at the spot where neck met collarbone. As he kept kissing and sucking, John began leading Jim toward the small bedroom mostly filled with a partially unmade, low lying bed. Jim stood at the foot of the bed and looked into John's eyes, requesting in a husky voice, "Take your shirt off."

John gave a mischievous smile as he replied, "No, you take yours off first."

Jim flinched instinctively as he had not been commanded by someone in over a decade but shook the feeling away quickly as he removed his jumper and t-shirt. He started on his jeans but John tutted and scolded him playfully, "Now you take off _my_ shirt."

Reaching out with nervous hands, Jim awkwardly pulled John's jumper up over his head realizing it was the first time he had taken someone else's clothes off. He had many companions throughout his life but they were always subservient and complying to his every wish. John was the only person he would ever consider humbling himself for. Once the jumper was finally off, Jim gazed at John's bare torso while gently moving his hand along the surprisingly firm muscles.

Jim's tender touches seemed to arouse John even more, causing him to wrap his arms around Jim and back him onto the bed. John quickly climbed on top of him and began planting kisses along his body, starting with his neck then trailing down his chest onto his abdomen finally reaching the fly of his jeans. Jim was rapidly losing himself in the overwhelming pleasure of being touched by John and took a moment to realize John's mouth had halted its progress. He propped himself up on his elbows and saw John gazing up at him.

"What's wrong?" Jim asked.

"I know we're moving fast but I'm serious about you. I want this to be the beginning of something, not a one-off," John replied earnestly. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Jim's heart threatened to beat out of his chest as he scrambled to answer, "Oh God, yes."

A wide smile grew on John's face before he swiftly unbuttoned Jim's jeans and pulled them off along with his specially chosen underwear. John stood at the end of the bed, gazing down at Jim's naked body, seeming to take in every detail. In a low, husky voice, John remarked, "You're absolutely beautiful, more beautiful than I ever could've imagined." He began unbuttoning and removing his own jeans while he said, "I want to fuck you so bad. Do you want that, Jim?"

In his entire adult life, Jim had never felt so vulnerable than at that moment having to look up at the man he loved and nod his head, saying, "Yes, please fuck me, John."

John, after having removed his jeans, knelt between Jim's legs and leaned down to place a soft, warm kiss on Jim's belly. He continued his kisses as he lowered his head, eventually running his tongue along the length of Jim's painfully hard cock. As John expertly took him into his mouth, Jim arched his back and moaned loudly causing the doctor to chuckle then pull his mouth off and ask, "Do you have any lube?"

It took a second for Jim's mind to calm down enough for him to register the words but when he did, he reached out to the bedside table happy they had included the lubricant he requested. After handing it to John with an embarrassingly shaky hand, John resumed sucking him but added a slick finger, working on loosening his entrance. By the time John had added a third finger, Jim was at his breaking point, breathlessly calling out, "Please, take me now."

John placed a pillow under Jim's hips as he lined himself up between the man's spread legs. He pushed himself in slowly as he leaned down to kiss Jim deeply, seeming to devour his moans. Jim gasped at the painful pressure but still clutched onto John's back, begging him to stay inside. Once the pain subsided, Jim began to relax his muscles and whispered for John to move. As John gradually built up a rhythm, the initial discomfort gave way to a growing pleasure. Jim had been penetrated before but it had never felt so intense, so personal.

While John thrust harder, he reached between them and stroked Jim in time with his movements causing the younger man to moan louder and babble in ecstasy. Jim's complete loss of control and coherence made him glad he had vetoed the idea of installing cameras in the flat. The last thing he needed was his men, especially Seb, seeing him so undone by John. As he felt his orgasm mounting, Jim announced in gasps, "I'm gonna come," causing John to articulate his movements and hit his prostrate with each thrust. Almost immediately after Jim came onto his abdomen and John's hand, John began to pull out but Jim locked his legs to hold him in.

"No, come inside me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, please John, I need it," Jim answered, nearly overcome with emotion from his intense climax.

With a shudder, John released inside Jim who reached out and pulled their bodies together, scared to let go of John for even a second. It took a great deal of placating and sweet kisses for Jim to finally detangle himself and allow John to fetch a towel from the bathroom.

John had drifted to sleep soon after returning to the bed to clean them both off, allowing Jim time to rest his head on John's chest and listen to his steady heartbeat. Soon his eyes fell upon John's scar on his left shoulder. The bullet from the high speed rifle travelled straight through from back to front and effectively ended his military career. Jim had acquired his medical records both from Afghanistan and London, covering the time of the initial injury to the physical therapy to the psychological therapy. He had been going through hell because of the injury, memories of war, boredom, and lack of purpose, all of it Jim's fault.

Over the years, Jim had ordered and oversaw the deaths of so many people he had lost count, but seeing John's wound sent a sickening wave of guilt rushing through his body. Somehow in his mind, Jim had justified the shooting as necessary to keep John out of combat in the most dangerous place on Earth, but staring at the results made him feel sick. Just like in their school days, Jim's love had brought John nothing but misery. The self-hatred that he had pushed down so far he barely recognized was surfacing.

Before he knew it, Jim was sobbing and could not stop himself. As he tried to roll over and get out of bed, he was enclosed by John's strong arms and held against the man's body. Jim babbled repeatedly, _I'm so sorry_ , but John kissed the top of his head and cooed, _don't worry, I'm here_. Eventually, Jim drifted to sleep with dreams of John saving him from drowning.


	5. Chapter 5

" _I talked to Tammy Jenkins and she's willing to take over your tutoring."_

" _Why would she take over my tutoring?"_

" _Well, she has the next highest grade in the class and she's . . . you know, a girl."_

" _Is this about what Carl and those other morons say? I don't give a damn about them and you shouldn't either."_

" _This is for the best. Goodbye John."_

" _No, Jim! Don't hang up, let's talk!"_

* * *

John was late. Sherlock sat in his armchair with his knees drawn up to his chest, wondering what could possibly be keeping John out all night. When he said he was going out, Sherlock assumed it was with Sarah but as he thought over the facts, he realized that may not be the case. Just to make sure, Sherlock called Sarah and made up a story about not being able to reach John's mobile, asking if she could remind him to pick up milk. When she said that John was not with her and they had broken up, Sherlock's stomach knotted uncomfortably, the same way it had when he saw John hugging the IT bloke from Bart's.

Sherlock desperately wanted some other explanation as to where John was but all the facts pointed to him being with his former classmate. Despite him deducing that, he did not understand it; John was not a homosexual and he had a romantic interest in Sarah, why would he spend the night with that man? He had assumed that if John were homosexual or even bisexual he would have naturally pursued Sherlock as the chemistry between them, both emotionally and physically, was palpable.

Trying to shake the thoughts from his mind, Sherlock went back to contemplating the situation with Moriarty. The ridiculous length of time between the pips was beginning to drive him mad. What could possibly be more important to him than the game? It was not as if Sherlock had instigated the entire ordeal, no he was merely a player solving the puzzles. Moriarty may have a vast criminal empire to run but keeping Sherlock waiting so long demonstrated a blatant lack of manners. He was so desperate for a distraction at the moment, he even considered finishing the case Mycroft had flung his way; however, he dismissed the thought, hoping he would never be that desperate.

It was morning by the time John arrived home and Sherlock was practically seething while he perched on his armchair like a cat ready to pounce. Once he entered, Sherlock immediately noticed John had showered before he left Jim's – no – that man's flat. He was also almost radiating his giddy happiness and appeared to actually have a spring in his step.

As he hung up his coat, John barely glanced in Sherlock's direction as he gave a cheerful greeting, "Good morning."

Hoping to at least embarrass him, Sherlock sharply asked, "How was your _date_?"

To his surprise, John just smiled warmly as he answered, "Lovely."

Sherlock's anger only deepened as he quipped, "This _Jim_ must quite something to make you steer from your heteronormative lifestyle."

John chuckled, "I wouldn't exactly call my lifestyle _heteronormative_ but yes, Jim is something special."

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly, "So you're saying that you are . . ."

"Bisexual?" John interjected. "Is that a problem?"

Sherlock, still in shock, stammered, "Certainly not. I, myself, have had most of my sexual experiences with men but I didn't assume that you were also so inclined."

John smirked slightly, "You mean to say there is something about me you weren't able to deduce?"

Sherlock replied in earnest, "There are very few people in this world that continually surprise me and you are one of them." John smiled warmly in response before Sherlock continued, "Now as for _Jim_ , from his accent I can tell he grew up in England but moved to Ireland during adolescence probably Dublin. From his clothing, it's evident that-"

"Stop." John said sternly, his smile gone completely. "I don't mind your deductions about me, in fact I rather like them, but don't try to analyze Jim."

"John, I'm merely trying to give you some insight into who-"

"Don't." John interrupted harshly. "I'm asking as your friend that you leave Jim alone. Don't research him, don't follow us on our dates, and don't bother him at Bart's."

A flash of hurt swept over Sherlock's face as he tried to quell the urge to grab John into his arms and demand he never see Jim again.

John seemed to have noticed the slight reaction and softened his voice as he added, "Promise me, Sherlock. Promise that you'll let this be."

Sherlock hesitated and stared at John's face. For a moment, he tried to think of anyone else he had ever known that would hold that kind of sway over him and no one even came close. Knowing it was his only way to keep John in his life, Sherlock nodded and felt his heart flutter at the smile he received from John in response.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a series of drabbles that didn't really fit in anywhere else.

* * *

"I read your blog," Jim announced over tea. "Does Sherlock honestly not know the sun goes 'round the Earth?"

John chuckled into his drink before setting it down, "He says he _deleted_ it, that it's not important. The only information he likes to retain is what he thinks will help him with his cases."

"That's mad."

"It is, isn't it? I tried to think of a situation where astronomy would help him solve a case but I just can't come up with anything," John mused. "Now that would take some creativity: forcing Sherlock to learn about the solar system to solve a crime."

A small smile grew on Jim's face as a plan started forming in his mind.

* * *

"Sherlock broke into my laptop again. I don't understand how he does it: I change my password every week and he still figures it out!"

Jim shrugged, "Why don't you let me have a go at it? I can set up an encryption that even Sherlock won't be able to break."

….

Sherlock let out a growl of frustration and shouted, "What the _hell_ is this!"

John, casually leaning against the kitchen counter, sipped at his tea and asked innocently, "Is there a problem?"

While still typing furiously, Sherlock spat, "Your computer is being most uncooperative."

With a smirk, John replied coolly, "Did you ever think of asking permission to use it?"

"Dull," Sherlock mumbled. "John, I think there is seriously something wrong with this machine."

John sighed and set down his tea before walking over to Sherlock's side. The computer screen was a mess of scrolling letters and symbols, set to appear at the instance of anyone entering the incorrect password, which had been set as a 12 digit numerical sequence. He then held down one of the keys and said carefully, "John Watson."

The computer stopped its panicking and opened to the regular windows desktop. John sat back in his armchair and relished the momentary look of surprise that crossed Sherlock's face.

* * *

 _I'm at Bart's with Sherlock. JW_

 _Anything important? JM_

 _Nothing that I can't take a break from. JW_

 _My lunch break is in an hour. There's an empty classroom on the 2_ _nd_ _floor. JM_

 _See you there. JW_

…

"John, you have no sense of propriety!" Sherlock bellowed.

John rolled his eyes, "You can't honestly be lecturing _me_ on appropriate behavior."

"This is an institute of education and medicine not the back of a seedy pub," Sherlock lectured while waving his hands in an overly dramatic fashion. "Do I even have to mention that we are on a case? Honestly, I expected better of you."

John crossed his arms over his chest in exasperation, "Let me get this straight: you followed me upstairs, saw me go into an empty room with Jim, stood outside the room for five minutes, then proceeded to pick the lock and interrupt us. What exactly did you think you were going to see?"

"If you haven't forgotten we are currently the targets of a crazed terrorist bomber and I was simply worried about your safety."

"Look, I know the work is important to you-"

"The work is _everything_ to me."

"Right. But I need you to understand that no one is going to run in and abduct me while I'm having a quick shag with my boyfriend." Sherlock winced at that. "Try to remember that we're not all married to our work."

Sherlock frowned and turned, leaving the room abruptly.

* * *

"Have you ever heard of the Golem?" John asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

Jim panicked briefly, wondering if John had made a connection between him and the hitman, but he kept his face neutral as he answered, "Do you mean the Czech myth? The clay man?"

John nodded, "Yeah, so you've heard of it?"

"In university, I took a trip to Prague where I learned about the legend. The Jewish people were confined to a horrible ghetto, almost stacked on top of each other. The space was so tight they didn't have enough room to even bury their dead. A rabbi created a man out of clay to enact revenge for their mistreatment, but the Golem grew bigger and stronger until he nearly destroyed the entire city."

John was silent for a moment, deep in thought, before he responded, "So what is the lesson in all of that?"

Jim fell silent with images of Carl Powers'dead body flashing through his mind. He drew his knees up to his chest and cuddled into John's side as the two continued watching the telly. After taking a long sip of his wine, Jim whispered, "I don't know anymore."

* * *

"Where's your other half, freak?" Donovan asked spitefully.

Sherlock only scowled in response and moved past the sergeant toward the crime scene. Anderson, in his blue gear, opened his mouth to make a similar remark but was cut off by Sherlock sniping, "I'm not in the mood."

Lestrade was looking over the bodies and took a moment to notice Sherlock was alone. "Where's John?"

"He's on a date," Sherlock answered miserably.

Lestrade nodded in understanding. Upon seeing Sherlock's pout, he spoke, "It's to be expected. The man's a doctor and war hero, not to mention easy on the eyes. You can't honestly have expected him to stay single for too long."

Sherlock only furrowed his brow and turned to the bodies hoping to distract himself. It only took five minutes for him to deduce the crime was a double homicide meant to look like a murder/suicide perpetrated by the couple's son. All in all, it was a disappointing attempt to collect on life insurance and a hefty inheritance.

As he was about to exit the building, Sherlock spotted an all too familiar black sedan and darted behind the doorway. Lestrade noticed his behavior and peered outside, remarking, "OK, I know I've seen that car at other crime scenes before. Who is it?"

"A very dangerous man."

Lestrade rolled his eyes, "No seriously: who is it?"

Sherlock petulantly mumbled a response. Lestrade leaned in, "What did you say?"

A little louder, Sherlock answered, "My brother."

"That's makes sense," Lestrade answered with a laugh.

An idea suddenly struck Sherlock, "Seeing how I just solved _another_ of your cases, could you please go tell my brother that I've already left?"

Lestrade sighed loudly but put his hands on his hips in resignation, "Fine but only because I know you're having a rough night without John." He then gave Sherlock's shoulder a friendly pat and headed out toward the street.

Sherlock felt a bit guilty feeding Lestrade to the lion but he was desperate. Knowing his brother's taste in men, Sherlock was confident the detective inspector was the perfect distraction to allow him to slip away back home. One look at the growing, predatory smile on Mycroft's face proved Sherlock right as he darted off down the nearest alleyway.


	7. Chapter 7

" _You're his father, you have to take some responsibility . . . I need a break . . . I want to go back to Dublin and see my family . . . Why can't you just take him in for a few months? . . . say he's one of the servant's children . . . I'm at my wit's end with this parenting shite . . . no, I'm not drunk . . . please don't say that Reg . . . don't I mean anything to you? . . . hello, Reg?"_

" _Damn it!" –_ crash- _"For fuck's sake, Jimmy, go back to bed!"_

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock sneered.

"Can't a man visit his family without reason?" Mycroft asked, mockingly.

Just as Sherlock was about to slam the door, Mycroft spoke, "I'm worried about Dr. Watson."

Sherlock stopped immediately and moved to the side, allowing his brother to enter. Mycroft strolled into the room and pompously took a seat while looking at Sherlock expectantly. After a few moments of silence, Sherlock spat, "Well out with it. Why are you here?"

Mycroft gave an indignant huff, "Are you not going to offer tea? Mummy would be most disappointed. You know how important good manners are to her."

Sherlock crossed his arms and intensified his glare making Mycroft release an exaggerated sigh. Taking out a small notebook, Mycroft thumbed through the pages and asked, "What do you know about Dr. Watson's new lover, James . . . Matthews?"

Sherlock snapped to attention and took the seat across from Mycroft before answering, "He goes by Jim, works in IT at Bart's, and is a former classmate of John's."

Mycroft raised on eyebrow. "That's it?"

"Yes, well, I only met him once for a few seconds and John refuses to talk about him. This is pointless really because I assume you have his entire life story scrawled down in that ridiculously archaic little notebook," Sherlock quipped, frustrated that he knew so little about John's boyfriend.

Mycroft cocked his head to the side, seeming genuinely surprised at Sherlock's lack of knowledge. The expression quickly disappeared as Mycroft uncrossed and then crossed his legs again. "I've had some people looking into his background and frankly, they found nothing."

Sherlock sat back in his chair, almost disappointed. He had been secretly hoping there would be something irregular with the man that he could use to drive him away from John. However, Mycroft continued, "Sherlock, I'm telling you: they found _nothing_. Behind his fake identity, it's as if he doesn't exist. If it weren't for the fact that you met him, I'd suggest that your flat mate has an imaginary friend. I don't think I can stress enough how troubling this all is."

Sherlock's eyes widened as he took in the implications of Mycroft's findings. The older brother then stood and approached the door while saying, "We'll be keeping an eye on things but I suggest you do some of your own leg work and have a conversation with Dr. Watson."

Mycroft opened the door and made to leave before stopping to say, "In case you were interested, your flat has been under surveillance for the past two weeks. In fact, he's watching you right now. His name is Sebastian Moran, ex-military turned mercenary."

"Dangerous?"

"Quite."


	8. Chapter 8

" _Jim, are you in there? If you are, please open the door. I haven't seen you for days . . . I'm worried . . . I care about you."_

* * *

Sebastian Moran sat in the corner of his tiny cell, so bored he no longer bothered to count down the days to his execution. The once loyal Brit had joined the army at age 20 and served in some of the most elite forces during the nastiest conflicts the world over. Yet there he was, 35 years old, no family, no friends, awaiting a swift military death.

Unexpectedly, his cell door opened and in strode a young, thin man dressed in an impeccable black suit. Seb remained seated while the man surveyed him with precise, calculating eyes. Seeming to like what he saw, the man broke out into a wide grin that was in no way friendly or comforting. With a playful, almost campy voice, the man spoke, "Colonel Sebastian Moran. You single handedly neutralized a known terrorist cell responsible for thirteen civilian and three military bombings. I'm a little confused as to why you're being punished for it."

With a low grumble, Seb answered, "So am I."

The man let out a shrill giggle, "You've been killing for Queen and country for 15 years and as soon as you show a little initiative, you're put to death! Is that even legal?"

"No, it's why I'm deep inside a hidden base and will eventually be reported as missing in action. Now, don't think I'm not grateful for the visit, it gets awfully boring here, but do you mind telling me who you are and why you have access to me?"

"The name's Jim Moriarty and I go where I like, when I like," Jim answered with a slight bow.

Seb raised an eyebrow, "Really? Well, good for you."

"I'd like to hire you. I need someone who's not only good at killing but understands its practical applications in maintaining order."

"If you're looking for a hired gun, there are easier ways than busting one out of a secret military prison in the desert."

"But I'm not looking for a mere _hired gun_ , I'm looking for loyalty but not blind faith. I need someone with a good head on his shoulders as well as questionable morals."

"What makes my morals _questionable_?" Seb asked, trying his best to sound offended instead of curious.

Moriarty put his hands up in defense, "Oh, don't think I'm judging; I find morality quite boring myself and I'm rather impressed with your record of _indiscretions_. I'm particularly fond of how troublesome men under your command seem to meet unfortunate fates."

Seb kept his eyes steady on Moriarty's as he answered, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Moriarty laughed happily, "That's another thing: tight lips. You can and have held up under some rather intense torture. That kind of mental and physical endurance is exactly what I'm looking for. You wouldn't believe how much blabber mouthing there is in this business!"

"What business is that exactly?"

"Consultation," Moriarty answered brightly. "People have problems and they come to me for solutions."

"And this consultation requires a penchant for murder, dubious morals, and a high pain threshold?"

"Exactly, and if things don't work out, I can always bring you back to the desert for a swift, off the books death."

Seb took a long minute and gazed into Moriarty's eyes, deciding that he was perhaps the most interesting man he had ever met. The condemned soldier then stood and proffered his hand to his new boss who shook it excitedly.

* * *

After three years of working as Jim's right hand man, Seb had never witnessed a single moment of weakness from the criminal mastermind. That was until Jim had sent Seb back to Afghanistan to wound an army doctor. It was an easy enough task and Seb performed it without complication, but things changed after that. Jim became fixated on the man going as far as to order the assassination of his most successful smuggling group because they had almost killed him. When Jim began using his fake identity to date the man, Seb knew something was wrong. He decided to use his spare time to monitor Dr. John Watson and his eccentric flatmate to make sure no harm would befall his beloved employer. As it turned out, the bombed shell of the building immediately across from 221B Baker St made for an ideal surveillance position.

For the life of him, Seb could not understand the appeal of John Watson. Why would a man as great as James Moriarty be so infatuated with such an average person? Jim could have any man he wanted and often did so why was he putting such extensive time into a ridiculously boring man? He began his surveillance of Watson soon after Jim had made contact with him. When Jim had started the undercover business at St. Bart's, Seb assumed it was part of his game with Sherlock Holmes but he seemed less interested in the genius detective and instead focused on the army doctor that followed him around.

Sherlock Holmes. He understood Moriarty's fascination with him. The man was brilliant, unpredictable, and stunningly beautiful with a success rate in crime solving that was simply mind boggling. What was odder still was that Holmes was _also_ obsessed with John Watson. How could two extraordinary men be so drawn in by one middle aged war vet?

What was most nagging about the situation was the ambiguous motivation of John Watson. Could he and Holmes be planning a trap? How long could he possibly date Jim and not notice something was amiss? Why was Holmes following his demands to leave Jim alone?

Seb decided he needed to speak with Holmes but he could hardly walk up to the door and ring the bell. Knowing his current methods of surveillance were nearly undetectable, Seb made the necessary corrections to make himself perceptible if not to Sherlock than at least his brother. This almost insured that Sherlock would be the one to approach him. Surprisingly, it took two weeks for Mycroft Holmes to inform Sherlock of Seb's presence.

* * *

The hollowed out building was cold and unstable but Sherlock managed to find a steady path up to the second floor. Various surveillance equipment and weapons were placed around what used to be someone's living room. Standing in the corner was a man even taller than Sherlock with firm muscles obvious even under his knee length, black wool coat. The collar was pulled up, framing his chiseled face and setting off his pale blond hair. Everything about the man told Sherlock he could and does kill anyone who stands in his way. At that moment his leather gloved hands were at work on a sleek smart phone.

"Does Moriarty pay well or are you just that entranced by his particular psychosis?"

Moran glanced up, unfazed by Sherlock's presence. "Moriarty? Never heard of him."

"Well if you happen to run into him tell him I'm tired of waiting around for another bloody pip."

Moran smiled slightly before pocketing his mobile and raking his eyes over Sherlock's frame. Sherlock mirrored the action and began his process of profiling the man's life. He started with what he gleaned from the report Mycroft had sent over.

"You've been here at least two weeks but you haven't been watching me." Seb raised an amused eyebrow as Sherlock continued, "No, your attention and activity are in no way correlated with mine, instead you appear to be focused on my flatmate. On days when John leaves-"

"You have questions for me. Quit trying to deduce the answers: just ask," Seb smirked.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the challenge in the man's voice but spoke anyway, "Why John? What does he have to do with any of this?"

The smirk gone, Seb answered, "John Watson is a dangerous man."

"More dangerous than me?" Sherlock asked with mock offense.

"From what I've gathered, yes."

"So you're here _not_ working for Moriarty in order to spy on an invalided army doctor with a bad shoulder?"

"When you put it that way it almost sounds silly."

With a resigned sigh, Moran put his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels, "Some would say Watson is your weak point, the crack in your armor making you vulnerable . . . weak," Sherlock shifted uncomfortably but Moran kept speaking, "however, I and my employer know better. John Watson is your secret weapon. You'd be dead now if it weren't for his quick thinking and protective instincts. What I'm here to find out is if _you_ are aware of it."

Sherlock's reaction although brief and completely involuntary seemed to give the man exactly what he wanted to know. Moran swiftly packed his equipment into a stainless steel carrier and began to leave. Sherlock felt as if he had just lost a battle he did not know he was fighting.

Seeming like an afterthought, Moran stopped and asked, "Just out of curiosity: did you figure out I was watching you or did your brother tell you?"

With a small grin, Sherlock replied, "If you were watching closely enough, you would already know."

Moran smiled wryly and gracefully mined his way through the rubble down to the street.


	9. Chapter 9

" _The poor boy. Just look at him: he hasn't said a word to anyone since it happened."_

" _So he actually just sat there in the house for two days with her hanging from the ceiling?"_

" _His mate from school called the police when he couldn't get a hold of him."_

" _Does he have any other family?"_

" _Apparently they're back in Ireland but they don't want to take him. It's all so sad. Suicide: what kind of mother does that?"_

* * *

John seemed upset. Since he had arrived that evening, he barely said anything and was sitting on the sofa ignoring all Jim's attempts to talk. Nervously, Jim finally asked, "You seem off today. Is something wrong?"

John sighed loudly, "Did you hear about that explosion today, the one that killed 12 people?"

Jim's stomach dropped as he nodded. John continued, "That was the case Sherlock and I were working on. A bomber had this woman hostage and she was about to be released but she started to describe the man's voice. That was against the rules and he blew her up."

"That's horrible," Jim said softly, not meeting John's eyes.

"She was old and blind and so, so scared. I don't understand how someone could do that," John moaned as he put his head in his hands.

Jim gently placed his hand on John's back as he tried to console him, "You were in the war, surely you've seen worse. I didn't know this kind of thing affected you so much."

Suddenly, John jumped to his feet, his face contorted with anger as he snapped, " _Affected_? I'm a human being, of course it _affects_ me. It's true that I'm a soldier and a doctor so I'm around death all the time but it doesn't make it easier. I've dedicated my life to preventing tragedies like this. I stay on the front line because that is where I'm needed. Do you even understand what that means, to be needed?"

At that, Jim jumped up and scurried into his bedroom. He had stared down the most ruthless criminals in the country and cultivated a vast empire that obeyed his will, but in that moment he was afraid, afraid of losing the good opinion of John Watson. Placing his hands on the dresser, Jim tried to compose himself.

As Jim struggled to hold back his emotion, the guilt was eating away at him. Everything inside him was screaming to tell John the truth and beg for mercy. He wondered if John would turn him in or would just shoot him point blank. The only thing stopping him from revealing everything was the knowledge that if anything happened to him, Seb would certainly take matters into his own hands and kill John in retaliation.

He never intended to kill the old woman but he panicked when she began describing his voice. She was scared so he had spoken to her in his sweetest voice, the one he normally only used with John. In retrospect, John would hardly have been able to make the connection but Jim was not taking any chances. Besides, his men had come to expect a certain level of ruthlessness and any show of weakness would be suspicious. That case was supposed to be easy for John. He picked a TV host that John watched and did not like, he made the cause of death fairly simple, and he gave plenty of time to figure it out, but there are always variables.

After a few minutes, Jim could hear John's soft footsteps behind him and soon warm arms were enveloping him from behind. John pressed soft kisses to his neck and softly spoke, "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. It's been a rough day but that's no excuse for talking to you like that."

Jim leaned into the embrace and softly replied, "You don't have to apologize, you did nothing wrong. I just don't want you to think badly of me."

"I know," John said between kisses. "I understand you better than you think."

Suddenly, John turned Jim around to face him and clasped the sides of his face, "Do you trust me?"

"Of course," Jim answered without hesitation. "You're the only one I trust."

At that, John smiled and drew Jim into a deep kiss that quickly grew in intensity. John's hands moved from Jim's face down along his waist eventually settling firmly on his arse. Jim moaned and grasped desperately at John's jumper trying to pull it over the man's head. Taking a step back, John removed the sweater himself and proceeded to take off the rest of his clothes as well as Jim's at a frenzied pace. Once they were both naked, John took Jim into his arms again and resumed his passionate kissing. When John slid his thigh between Jim's legs, Jim moaned deeply into the kiss and felt his knees go weak with the sensation. Just when he thought he might fall, John grabbed onto his thighs and lifted him, allowing Jim to wrap his legs around John's hips as he was carried the short distance to the bed.

Once John had him on the bed, he immediately flipped him over and guided him onto his knees. John knelt on the floor as he pressed kisses to Jim's spine. While John's tongue sank lower, he began stroking Jim's hard cock with one hand and ran his other up Jim's back to push his head and shoulders onto the bed. When John's tongue reached between Jim's cheeks and found his hole, Jim whimpered at the sensation and spread his knees further apart.

John then used his free hand to reach over to the bedside table and take out the bottle of lube. Deftly, John's finger pushed inside of Jim and worked around until it bumped his prostate causing Jim to arch his back and sink his hips back to increase the contact. John continued massaging him with only one finger while he applied increasingly light strokes to his achingly hard cock. Jim's frustration soon had him panting wildly as he begged, "More, John, please."

John chuckled softly, "You're certainly eager."

Without warning, John shoved in another two fingers making Jim cry out helplessly as he continued to thrust his hips, hoping to take John deeper. When John's fingers were no longer enough, Jim called out, "Please don't tease me anymore."

Suddenly, John pulled out completely and Jim whined at the loss of contact as John climbed onto the bed in front of him. Clasping Jim's chin, John lifted his head allowing Jim to see into his large blue-green eyes, dark with lust. Jim rose to his knees and scrambled forward onto John's lap, bringing their mouths into a bruising kiss. Reaching behind him, Jim took John's cock into his hand and held it while he lowered himself onto it slowly.

Once he had taken all of John that he could, Jim wrapped his legs around John's waist and his arms rested his shoulders. John clasped onto his back and breathed heavily against his neck while Jim began to slowly move himself. When the pace began to increase, John slid his hands onto Jim's hips and started thrusting upwards to meet Jim's movements. Jim's painfully hard cock was gripped between their abdomens, leaking pre-come as the friction increased.

After a while the angle and pressure were no longer enough for either men making John sit up and shove Jim onto his back all the while staying inside him. John then forcefully spread Jim's legs and braced his knees into the crooks of his elbows, allowing him to plow deeper than he ever had before.

As he felt his orgasm rapidly approaching, Jim became an incoherent mess, sputtering, "Yes, John, fuck me . . . God, yes!"

Almost without warning, he felt his balls tighten and, from John's cock hitting his prostate and his own rubbing between their bodies, he came without being touched. In shock, he tightened around John causing the man to spurt deep inside him. John collapsed on top of him as they both trembled while their climaxes shuddered through them. Moving his weight off of Jim and onto the mattress, John rested his head on Jim's chest, softly panting, "That. was. amazing."


	10. Chapter 10

_"She died!" Jim shouted angrily._

 _"It's what people do," Reginald replied coldly._

 _"She killed herself, don't you feel anything?"_

 _"No. She was weak and stupid. Tell me James: are you going to be like her or are you going to survive?"_

* * *

Sherlock found Jim's flat easily enough after following John there one night. Even though he knew it was for the man's well being, Sherlock was nearly overcome with guilt for going against John's wishes. He could not understand it but he craved John's good opinion. He remembered the look of disgust on the doctor's face when Sherlock said he did not care about the hostages; it felt like a knife to the gut. The only reason he was violating John's will was because he knew it was for the man's safety.

The building's security was laughably easy to breach and Sherlock picked the flat's lock effortlessly. Just like the man himself the flat was boring and inoffensive at first glance but seemed oddly suspicious. Everything appeared exactly like a flat belonging to an IT worker would but there was nothing personal, no family photos, papers, sentimental decorations. If Sherlock had to deduce what this man was like from his flat, he would be completely at a loss. Mycroft was right: the man is a phantom. After what he did to the security on John's computer, Sherlock knew better than to attempt to hack Jim's laptop. Instead, he went into the bedroom, hoping to find anything that would hint at his past.

On the bedside table was a note written in John's hand:

 _Hey Sexy,_

 _I didn't want to wake you but I had to leave for work._

 _See you tonight._

Sherlock's common sense was at war with his overwhelming desire to crumple the note and light it on fire. Eventually he forced himself to place it back where he found it and continued to search the room. His heart nearly stopped again when he saw John's jumper, the oatmeal colored wool one, Sherlock's favorite, unceremoniously thrown over a chair in the corner. Sherlock wanted to grab the sweater, fold it neatly, and take it back home where it belonged not leave it abandoned in some stranger's flat. Finding himself unable to concentrate on anything in the sparse flat, Sherlock decided he might have better luck at Bart's.

* * *

"So you're no longer seeing Jim from IT," Sherlock tried to mention as casually as possible.

Since Sherlock never made casual conversation, Molly looked at him with a face of pure shock. After a moment she was able to sputter, "I suppose I'm not really his type."

"Shame that, I thought you two were good together. I hope you didn't take my joking about him being gay to heart."

"Joking? You?"

Sherlock put on his best fake smile, "Of course, just some harmless ribbing between friends."

Molly raised a skeptical eyebrow and huffed, "Well, either way, you were right. I'm not upset or anything. How could I be seeing how much he adores Dr. Watson?"

Sherlock could barely hide the cringe her words induced but he recovered enough to ask, "What was Jim like as a boyfriend? Did you ever meet his family? Did he ever say where he's from? How long has he worked here? Where did he work before? Where did he go to university?"

"Sherlock, I don't really feel comfortable with-"

"Nonsense, even _you_ must know something about him. You don't date with any regularity so a steady albeit gay boyfriend must have held some significance. Did you have any sexual relations-"

Molly interrupted Sherlock with a hard slap across the face before she stormed out of the lab. Sherlock held a hand to his sore cheek as he reluctantly considered Mycroft's advice about speaking to John.

* * *

"What do you know about Jim?" Sherlock asked, trying and failing at subtlety.

John looked up from the corpse on the sidewalk and hissed, "Are you sure this is an appropriate time to be talking about this?"

Sherlock pursed his lips and huffed, mumbling, "Perhaps not."

Once they were finished at the crime scene, Sherlock hailed a cab and sat uncomfortably, wondering if he should try questioning John again. As if reading his mind, John spoke, "I told you: I don't want you sticking your nose into this relationship."

"I have serious concerns over his true identity," Sherlock began but was cut off.

"His _true identity_?" John repeated incredulously. "Sherlock, who I choose to spend my time with is my business and you will not interfere. Do me a favor: take your _concerns_ about Jim and delete them."

Sherlock turned his face away, hoping the hurt he was feeling did not show in his eyes. After a minute of uncomfortable silence, John sighed and placed his hand over Sherlock's, saying, "You're my friend, my best friend, and I appreciate that you worry about me. It's just that the relationship I have with Jim is special and I don't want anything to ruin it. He's sensitive and if he thinks you're poking around, he might get scared off."

Once they arrived back at the flat, John changed clothes and went out to meet Jim leaving Sherlock alone and miserable.

* * *

Sherlock stood at the window of the darkened flat and gazed at where he knew Moran was watching him from. The light off the street shown into the flat enough so the other man would know he was there but Sherlock wanted to be more obvious so he switched on a lamp. After several long minutes, he removed his jacket and slowly unbuttoned his shirt exposing his porcelain skin. Once the silk button down slipped off his shoulders and onto the floor, he gave a curt nod of his head and stepped back into the flat, waiting.

Once the door opened and Moran entered, Sherlock had stripped down to only his snug, black briefs that hung low on his hips. Moran eyed him hungrily and approached intent on pulling Sherlock into his arms but the detective stopped him with a hand to his chest. Sherlock began moving his hand carefully down the man's muscular torso until he reached the end of his black shirt and pulled it up over Moran's head with perfect ease. The detective hitched his breath upon viewing the newly exposed skin; Moran's chest was littered with scars. Sherlock's mind reeled at the imagined combat the man had seen over his 15 years of service and 3 years of crime. The detective's grey eyes darkened at the danger and excitement emanating in front of him. Slowly, he trailed his fingers across the old wounds and followed with the lightest touch of his tongue.

* * *

It was early morning and Sherlock lay on his side with his head on Seb's right shoulder. His fingers lazily traced over the various frag marks, old cuts, and scarred skin on the soldier's broad chest. Sherlock wondered what John's scar was like and if it felt anything like Seb's. There were a few times he had tried to sneak a look but John was actually quite modest and preferred to be covered in fuzzy jumpers.

Sherlock ran his finger up to Seb's left shoulder and moved it in a circle, trying to picture what a large wound would look like. In a soft voice he asked, "What would it feel like, being shot here?"

"I'd imagine it would hurt," Seb answered with a touch of sarcasm but he then elaborated, "There are a lot of nerves, tendons, and bones going through the shoulder so the pain would be extensive, even after the wound healed."

Even though he already knew that, Sherlock still wanted to hear it from another soldier. Almost dreamily, Sherlock continued, "That's where John's scar is."

Seb wanted to say, _I know, I'm the one that put it there_ , but he just nodded instead and allowed Sherlock to continue with his own thoughts.

He finally broke the companionable silence, "You should tell him."

Sherlock hitched an eyebrow and after a deep sigh, replied, "Tell him _what_ exactly?"

"That you're in love with him."

"Brilliant plan," Sherlock sneered. "Telling him now would only seem like I'm saying it out of jealousy."

Seb smirked, "But you _are_ jealous."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, "Yes, but John will think I'm only saying it because I don't have his undivided attention anymore. If I tell him I love him, he must know it's genuine." Sherlock paused and then added, "Do you think Moriarty would let me hire you to get rid of John's boyfriend?"

Seb raised an eyebrow in surprise and amusement making Sherlock add, "I don't mean killing him, just having him transferred far away, perhaps New Zealand."

"There you go again, assuming I work for Moriarty."

"I'm not above thinking that he probably ordered you into my bed."

Seb gave a small laugh, "If I remember correctly, _you_ invited _me_. Besides, what makes you think I'm not here because I find you incredibly fascinating?"

"Because you don't. If you were so fascinated by me, you wouldn't be so interested in John. He's your target; sex with me is just a bonus." Sherlock then turned his head and added, "Not that I'm complaining."

Both men laughed and Seb gave Sherlock's thigh a tender squeeze; however, he noticed a sudden change in the detective's demeanor. Without moving his head from Seb's shoulder, he spoke again but in an icy voice, "John is not to be harmed. I've indulged Moriarty's games until now because they're an interesting puzzle but John is off limits."

Sherlock finally sat up and stared into Seb's eyes with frightening intensity, "You tell Moriarty that I'll play along with what he gives me but if he even supposes to involve John, the game ends. I will come after him with every resource available to me until I have burnt the heart out of him."

Seb's face flushed at the unexpected danger surging through the man in front of him, making him reach forward and draw Sherlock into a crushing kiss. Sherlock responded just as fiercely, digging his nails into Seb's back, leaving deep red welts to complement his collection of battle wounds.


	11. Chapter 11

_A long silence filled the room as Jim stared down at his father. Finally, the man spoke in resignation, "So you've uncovered my real business model. What are you going to do about it?"_

 _Jim continued to stare daggers at the despised man._

" _Is this about revenge for your dear mummy? Are you sad that I was never there and chose my real children over some sniveling bastard? What do you want, James?"_

 _With a cold, dark voice, Jim answered, "Everything."_

* * *

John had done it. Sherlock watched with something akin to pride as John looked over the railroad tracks and put the pieces together. He absolutely did not want to solve Mycroft's case but since his brother had been helping him with the _Jim problem_ , Sherlock supposed delegation and subsequent supervision of the task was fair enough. The only thing they had left was to collect the plans.

By the time they had recovered the plans from the victim's shaken brother-in-law, it was night. As they were walking, Sherlock stopped suddenly and asked ahead to John, "Are you going over to Jim's tonight?"

John paused and turned around. "Since this is all sorted, yes."

With a slight waver in his voice, Sherlock replied, "Don't."

John sighed, "Sherlock, we've been over-"

"Please, don't go see him, not tonight," Sherlock requested with more vulnerability than he intended.

"Sherlock . . ." John began with growing apprehension.

"I know I'm not very good when it comes to saying the right thing but I have to do this." Sherlock moved closer to John and gazed into his eyes. "John Watson, since the moment I met you, you've proven to be the most surprising, unpredictable, and supportive part of my life. I've never said this to anyone before: I love you."

Sherlock reached out with his long fingers and clasped John's face, bringing their lips together for a crushing kiss. Even as he felt John grab onto his forearms, trying to pull away, Sherlock kept the pressure on. Eventually, he felt John relax in his grip, place his hands on Sherlock's waist, and begin to return the kiss; however, when Sherlock tried to open his mouth, John wriggled out of his arms and stepped back.

John flushed and began to rant in sentence fragments, "Sherlock, please . . . it's not that I don't care for you, I do . . . understand that if it were any other time but . . . you're my best friend and . . ."

With his heart thundering in his chest and his stomach threatening to eject its contents, Sherlock composed himself, "You don't feel the same. I understand. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable."

After brushing off imaginary dust from his sleeve, Sherlock began walking briskly up ahead trying to ignore John's pitying looks and apologies.

* * *

Sebastian Moran squared his shoulders and entered Jim's office. The small man, clad in his impeccable Westwood suit, looked the picture of authority and power. Seb hated what he was about to do. Stepping in front of Jim's desk, Seb placed a manila envelope in front of him. Jim raised an eyebrow at his second in command and asked, "What's this then?"

"These photos were taken an hour ago."

Jim opened the envelope and looked through the contents. Images of Sherlock embracing John were followed by images of John returning his passionate kiss. Jim stared at the photos in disbelief as Moran braced himself for the inevitable hell that would soon be unleashed on the world. He knew this was going to devastate Moriarty but Seb had to let him know the truth. His infatuation with John Watson was only going to lead to his downfall and Seb could not watch the most important person in his life succumb to anyone.

After five long minutes of excruciating silence, Jim finally spoke, "Have him rounded up. This ends tonight."

Seb nodded and began his already rehearsed plan to kidnap John Watson.

* * *

Sherlock was still clad in his large, wool coat as he sank into his armchair, knees drawn up to his chest. Eventually, John came back downstairs, an expression of apprehension on his sweet face. Sherlock found he could barely even look him in the eyes.

"Sherlock, are you . . . alright?"

Without moving, Sherlock replied dully, "Yes John. I'm fine."

"Sherlock . . ."

Using every bit of will he had left, Sherlock raised his head and gave John a reassuring smile.

John nodded tentatively, "Ok, I'm going to – I'm going out." He then slipped into his jacket and headed down the stairs.

Sherlock took out his mobile and sent a quick text to Mycroft.

 _He just left._

 _Have him detained until I contact you._

 _-SH_

He and Mycroft had devised a plan to have John put in protective custody when Sherlock felt that his life was in danger. Mycroft replied in less than a minute.

 _All arrangements are made._

 _The doctor is safe._

 _-MH_

Sherlock then took out his laptop and left an announcement on his website reading: _IT support is needed. Meet at the pool. Midnight._


	12. Chapter 12

" _Oi, Watson!" John grimaced at Carl's obnoxious voice before turning to face him. "You should know that I've taken care of your little pest."_

 _John rolled his eyes at the unbearable git, "What are you on about?"_

" _That little freak that's been followin' you 'round, I told him to fuck off. Me and the lads gave him a good thumping just so he got the message."_

 _Without a moment's hesitation, John's fist connected with Carl's jaw, sending the boy flying to the floor. When the other boys stopped and stared in shock, John angrily shouted, "Anyone else that lays a hand on Jim or so much as looks at him funny will get the same!"_

* * *

Sherlock cautiously entered the pool where Carl Powers died. The lights were low and reflected eerily off the water's surface. For a moment, he wondered if Jim had received his message but the movement from across the tiled floor let him know he was not alone. Not wanting to delay the inevitable, Sherlock called out, "It took me awhile to figure out what you were after. I have to admit, you were very clever."

"Why Sherlock, that almost sounded like a compliment," a voice from the shadows answered. "And here I thought you hated me."

"What gave you that idea?"

"We're rivals in profession and love so isn't it natural for there to be some animosity?" Jim asked as he stepped out into the light on the other side of the arena dressed in an impeccable black suit. "There's also the telling fact that you arrived to our little rendezvous armed."

"This is merely because I don't trust you," Sherlock explained as he took out John's pistol and aimed it directly at Moriarty. In his other hand, he held out a flash drive. "I have what you want so why don't you take it and leave John and I alone."

"You said you figured out what I was after, tell me so I can be impressed by your deductive skills," Jim commanded in an oddly sing-song voice.

"This, all of this, was one big distraction. The pips, the bombs, and even Sebastian Moran were designed to keep me distracted from these plans. Everything was going fine until you walked into that lab at Bart's and the unthinkable happened: John Watson recognized you. You assumed that no one would remember some insecure little genius but John did so you used yourself to distract him. Then you played off my jealousy and threw in Moran to distract me. No more distractions: let's end this." Sherlock then tossed the flash drive toward Jim, letting it skitter across the floor.

Jim stared at Sherlock in disbelief, his eyes almost comically wide making Sherlock nearly grin, but then the man began to laugh. Jim's laugh was loud and giggly taking Sherlock by surprise. The small man had nearly doubled over as he was wiping tears from his eyes. After finally calming himself with some deep breaths, he spoke in an odd, high-pitched accent, "You are amazing. That was absolutely wrong. I didn't think it was possible and yet here it is: you are completely wrong about everything!"

Softly, almost to himself, Sherlock responded, "I can't be."

"Oh but you are," Jim answered as he walked forward and smashed the drive under his foot. "Except one thing: you're right, I didn't expect John to recognize me . . . but he did. John's the wild card in all this. My game with you was supposed to end with that ridiculous cab driver but John Watson, like the angel that he is, swept in to save you."

Sherlock remained motionless, the gun still aimed at Jim as he tried to contemplate what he was hearing, "See, your delusion comes from actually assuming you're a threat to me. You're just part of the game, an expendable toy."

When there was still no comeback from Sherlock, Jim continued, "So you're sleeping with Seb? Believe me when I say I knew nothing about it. I'm not obsessive over my colleagues so who Seb chooses to shag is his business. Speaking of Seb: say hi to Sherlock."

Jim's eyes gleefully glanced down at Sherlock's chest. When Sherlock followed his gaze, he saw a small red dot hovering over his heart.

"He's a crack shot, was able to wound John in Afghanistan from over a 1000 meters. Don't give me that look; I couldn't leave such an extraordinary man to be killed in a senseless war not when I could do something about it," Jim sneered. "See that's the difference between you and me: you wait for things to happen and then respond, I make things happen. That is why John is mine and will _never_ be yours."

"You lie, cheat, steal, and murder. What do you suppose _John_ will think when he finds out who you really are?"

"It doesn't matter: he belongs to me now and no one else will have him."

"Then it's too bad that John is currently under protection from the British government." Just as he finished the sentence, Sherlock's mobile alerted him to a text. His heart dropped when he looked at the screen to see the word _wrong!_ mocking him.

"You're not the only one capable of hacking mobiles," Jim taunted with a giggle.

* * *

 _The old locker room reeked of mold, sweat, and chlorine. Jim and Seb watched from the other side of the room as several henchmen outfitted John's unconscious body with the explosives vest. Softly, in a near whisper, Seb asked, "Sir, what is the point of this?"_

 _With a raised eyebrow from Jim, Seb instinctively fell silent; however, after another few minutes, the mercenary could not help but try again, "After what he did to you, he shouldn't even be alive. Holmes will come out of curiosity so why do you persist that Watson remain unharmed?"_

" _Because I NEED him!" Jim shouted, causing the bulky henchmen to halt their movements and stare wide eyed until Moriarty lowered his voice, awkwardly adding, "Alive. Because I need him alive. He's an integral part of my game with Holmes and he will remain until I decide what his fate is." Jim then narrowed his eyes and snarled, "Do you have a problem with that, Colonel Moran?"_

 _Seb swallowed hard before replying, "No sir."_

* * *

John, decked out in a vest of explosives, was unceremoniously shoved from behind a dressing curtain so that he stood between Jim and Sherlock. A red sniper's beam was poised on his head. Sherlock surveyed John looking for wounds but saw none. The brave soldier that he was, John maintained an impassive expression and looked neither scared nor angry.

Sherlock kept his gun raised and asked with a growl, "So what now, are you going to shoot us both, blow up this whole building?"

"No, I won't. I don't like to get my hands dirty," Jim taunted. "But Seb does. In fact, John, I believe Sherlock can tell you all about Seb's hobbies since the two have become so close recently. I have to admit even _I_ didn't see that coming."

Jim laughed loudly and Sherlock tried to hide a blush but John was still not reacting. There was no shock, anger, or disgust, only slight sadness.

"John, this is what I was trying to warn you about. Moriarty has been using you and probably stalking you since you were teenagers. He has been operating right under our noses and . . . John?" Sherlock trailed off as he noticed the odd expression on John's face.

Nothing Sherlock or Jim said was causing any reaction. Just as the realization dawned on Jim, the same thought occurred to Sherlock who lowered his gun and turned toward John.

"You knew," Sherlock accused softly. There was a long moment of silence before John nodded. "How long? How long have you known that he's . . . Moriarty?"

Jim's face matched Sherlock's in shock and disbelief. His voice, back to its soft and small timbre, whispered, "John?"

John sighed as he answered, training his eyes on Jim, "Since Molly brought you into the lab at Bart's."

The air seemed to let out of Sherlock as he staggered to the wall and sank into a crouch.

"I'd always had suspicions about Carl's death and when you walked into the room at the exact moment we were examining his shoes, everything clicked."

A flash of emotions ran through Jim starting with distress, moving on to confusion, and then on to anger. "You let me carry on this entire time? You knew and-"

"Would you mind if I took off this ridiculous fake bomb now?" John interrupted while still staring intently at Jim.

"How did you-"

"I've spent over a decade in the military, give me some credit that I can tell a real bomb when I see it," John replied while removing the coat and vest. Once it was off, John rolled his stiff shoulders and commanded, "Jim, call off the snipers."

Wide-eyed, Jim sputtered, "What?"

"Call off the snipers, they're making Sherlock nervous."

Jim made a waving motion with his hand and the sniper beams focused on Sherlock and John disappeared. John then turned to Sherlock who was still crouching near the wall, trying to absorb what was happening. While cautiously lowering down, John asked in a gentle but firm voice, "Sherlock, may I have my gun back?"

Sherlock absently handed over the weapon and spoke in a weak voice, "I don't understand."

"I never meant to hurt you. Please believe that," John said softly while gently brushing back a piece of Sherlock's hair.

"What exactly _were_ your intentions, John?" Jim shouted desperately as Sherlock remained motionless.

John stood and placed the gun in the waistband of his jeans. Walking carefully toward Jim, John answered, "The same as yours: I wanted to be with my first love."

"John . . ."

"I searched for you for years after your mother died, but you'd disappeared. When I saw you again, after all that time, I knew I would never let you go."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Jim asked as he walked closer to John.

"I couldn't risk seeing you retreat again, hide away from who you really are," John answered. "These suits, the mocking voice, the crimes, it isn't you. The real you is the man that I hold in my arms at night and whisper sweet words to. You're the man that blushes when I touch his thigh or kiss his neck in public."

"I'm not who-" Jim began but was cut off.

"I told you that I understand you better than you think. You're overcome with guilt for the crimes you've committed and it eats away at your soul. You crawl deeper and deeper within this constructed personality to try to escape but it never stops haunting you."

A tear slid down Jim's cheek as John continued, "You brought me back from Afghanistan for a reason: you need me." John wiped away the errant tear and brought his hands up to either side of Jim's head. "You'll never be able to leave this life on your own and you brought me here to do it for you."

"John, I can't . . ." Jim trailed off as he was shaking under John's intense gaze.

"Say it, Jim," John commanded as his grip intensified. "Say what you've wanted to say to me since you were thirteen."

Jim swallowed hard and with a trembling voice, answered, "I- I love you, John Watson."

"And I love you, James Morstan," John replied with steadfast conviction before bringing their mouths together for a searing kiss.

Jim collapsed into John's arms as if the air had been seeped from his body. John held him tight and whispered tender comforts until Jim was steady enough to release. Softly, John told him, "Wait here."

John walked over to where Sherlock was sitting on the floor with a look of anguish and despair plastered across his normally stoic face. Kneeling beside him, John placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and contritely told him, "I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I have to leave now but know that it's not because of anything you've done. You rescued me; when I thought I had never to live for, you gave my life meaning and I'll never forget that. You're an extraordinary, kind man and the best friend I've ever had."

Slowly, Sherlock lifted his head and gazed up at John. Upon seeing the truth and love in his eyes, Sherlock's face softened and he nodded his understanding. John leaned forward and placed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips and whispered _goodbye_. John then walked back over to Jim and clasped his hand, leading him out of the room.

* * *

Sherlock sat with his legs stretched out in front of him as he stared at the water. Eventually, he was joined by Sebastian, dressed in black fatigues and carrying a large sniper's rifle. He set the gun down and sat next to Sherlock so that their shoulders were touching. Sherlock rested his head on Seb's shoulder and after a few long minutes, asked in a soft voice, "Would you really have shot me?"

Seb nodded, "Yeah." He placed a small kiss to Sherlock's curls and added, "But I would've felt very bad about it."

"Where do you suppose they'll go?"

Seb laughed slightly, "I'd imagine anywhere they damn well please."

* * *

Sherlock was stretched out across the sofa, bored as he waited for a new case to emerge. When he noticed a bead of sweat forming on his forehead, he let out an annoyed huff. It was autumn and had no business still being so unseasonably hot. He supposed he could go and open a window but that was boring and required standing up. When he heard a light rapping on the door, he groaned out a welcome and Mrs. Hudson entered with a plate of biscuits.

"Sherlock, I don't understand how a grown man can be so lazy," the elderly landlady admonished. "Why don't you get up and make yourself some tea to have with these?"

Sherlock gave a bored sigh in response and Mrs. Hudson continued, "I also brought the post. Looks like you have a letter from overseas. Do you suppose it's from John?"

Sherlock immediately leapt from the sofa and greedily snatched the envelope as Mrs. Hudson asked, "Is there any chance of him coming to visit soon? I do miss him sometimes."

However, Sherlock did not even hear her as he was engrossed in the latest correspondence from his former flatmate. Frustrated with Sherlock's lack of response, Mrs. Hudson gave up and went back downstairs. As Sherlock read the letter, he felt a strong pair of arms encircle him from behind and a kiss placed on his neck. Seb peered over his shoulder and briefly scanned the note detailing John's recent trip to South America. Noting the signature line, Seb still could not help rereading the names _John and Jim Watson_ in disbelief.

Sherlock eventually set down the letter and helped himself to a biscuit. Leaning against the counter, he spoke between bites, "They sent a photo."

The picture was of John and Jim in some tropical setting, each holding a large parrot. Jim was laughing as John's bird seemed to be biting the doctor's ear.

Seb looked at the picture and sighed, he had been right the whole time: John Watson was a dangerous man. The seemingly harmless, jumper-wearing doctor had managed to domesticate one the most powerful and feared criminals in Europe. Just the wistful look in Sherlock's eye let him know that his lover would leave him in a second if John asked. However, Sebastian Moran was a soldier and knew when he was solidly defeated so he decided to relish what he had left and joined Sherlock for tea and biscuits.


End file.
